Christmas Stockings
by Beelsebutt
Summary: Castiel wants something. Dean/Castiel SLASH. Please, read the A/N and the warnings inside!


**A/N:**

I don't know where this came from. I was just thinking of different ways to begin a story and the old poem popped into my mind. It's not _my_ poem, as you probably know, but was written by Clement Clarke Moore. Just Google "Twas the night before Christmas", and you'll find it (if you really don't know what I'm talking about :D). And, yeah. A Christmas fic, and it's not even November yet? I know ;)

This story is AU, or maybe it happens in the future ;) Like it's said in the story, Dean and Castiel are already living together, and have been for the past four months.

Thanks to _Jolandina_ and _jossujb_ for their encouraging words 3 and a big hooray to _eridanie_ (LiveJournal) for spicing up my grammar! :3

**Warnings: A few F-words, some sexual tension. Nothing in detail, though. No spoiler alerts, if you know who Castiel is.**

**Disclaimer! I do not own Supernatural series or its characters. I'm not making any money with this, so, don't sue! I mean no harm to anyone, just peace and love etc. Also, Misha Collins is my god.**

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**Christmas Stockings**

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"Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house; not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse..." Cas' voice faded, and Dean looked up. Castiel, the almighty Angel of the Lord, was sitting in the middle of the fluffy carpet, a book in his lap. His eyes were roaming the glossy pages, as he was taking in the old poem. He was already obsessed with Christmas, and it wasn't even November yet.

"Maybe the rats still have some kick in them?" Dean suggested, pretending to be reading the news while he was actually checking out the new porn site he'd found, . It wasn't like he was keeping it secret from Cas, more like he didn't want to flaunt it right in front of his nose. Not with the whole 'living together' kind of thing going on between them.

"It is not that kind of a story, Dean," Cas said absent-mindedly. "This is about a Christmas night with eight reindeer, a sleigh, and St. Nicholas, who I believe is also known as Father Christmas."

"You think?" Dean snorted.

"Well, it has quite a few similarities with the stories parents tell their children."

"Lies, you mean."

Castiel raised his eyes from the book and studied Dean for a moment. Dean saw him out of the corner of his eye, but didn't look back. Cas had a nasty habit of getting away with everything by using the power of his cerulean blue eyes, and frankly, Dean was tired of it. After all, he was the man in their relationship so maybe it was time he acted like one.

"I am given to understand that it is customary to let one's children believe in fairytales until such an age that they are ready to understand the meaning behind them."

Dean opened a promising clip, ignoring Cas completely. He did mute the sound, though. No need to be cruisin' for a bruising.

"Were you not told about Father Christmas?"

"No Cas. I was told about the real world. You know, vampires and werewolves. And demons."

Castiel rose and sat next to Dean. He was so near that Dean could feel his breath on his bare shoulder. Dean kept his eyes fixed on the naked ladies, not daring to move.

"Do you regret missing a childhood?" Castiel asked softly, angling towards Dean so much that he was practically sitting sideways in the hard polished wooden chair.

"No," Dean snapped. He hadn't even noticed that there were now three chicks working with each other, next to each other, on top of each other. He tried to concentrate; it _was_ porn for cryin' out loud!

"Perhaps we could hang Christmas stockings by the chimney this year?"

"What's the point?"

"Perhaps that would help us to get in the Christmas spirit?"

"What, so you can zap here and there and put presents into the stockings and then, in the morning, ooh and aah about the fat man in the red suit?"

"It is customary," Castiel said his voice as impassive as ever.

Dean slammed the laptop closed and glared at Castiel. The angel wore a wrinkled grey shirt that had two top buttons open. There was stubble on his chin, since it was already evening, and his lips were looking weird. Dean stared at them, forgetting his anger for a moment. Cas was _pouting!_ He never pouted! Dean was sure that he had never seen any emotion on Cas' face before save anger or an occasional smile. Maybe he was hallucinating.

"Why the fuck should we care about a custom? You're a gay angel living with a human. There's nothing traditional about that!"

Dean got up and turned his back to Cas. He marched to the fridge and grabbed a beer, taking a swig before turning back to his partner. There was still something off in Cas' face, and Dean tried not to look directly at him.

"I believe that I would like to celebrate Christmas. It is our first since we've been living together," Castiel said, just a hint of petulance in his voice.

Dean raked his fingers through his hair. How was he supposed to deny Castiel anything? He couldn't say no to him and the little shit knew it perfectly well. He had been abusing this advantage the whole four months they'd been living together, just dropping a word here and there, and eventually getting his way. Dean hadn't wanted to get the matching curtains for all of their rooms, or something called a _duvet_ on top of their king-size bed.

But again, like the love-sick puppy that he was, Dean made the mistake of staring too long into Castiel's eyes. Then at his lower lip that was jutting out and looking so fuck-a-licious. Dean knew he was doomed.

"Christ, you... your..."

"Thou shalt not..." Castiel began, but Dean took two long strides, and he was next to Cas so fast the angel didn't have a chance to finish his words.

"Who the fuck taught you to do that thing with your lips?" Dean muttered, before ducking down and smashing their mouths together.

There was nothing soft and sweet about the kiss, it was full of hot tongues and nibbling teeth, and the world's most awesome sounds: the soft moans at the back of Cas' throat. Dean could have died a happy man just hearing Castiel whimper, but he really preferred being alive to appreciate the full impact it had on him. Finally, Cas leant back, letting Dean gasp for air. The bastard didn't even need to do that. At least, the pout was gone, and Cas' full lips were red and ravished and glistening with saliva. _My_ saliva, Dean thought, grinning broadly and adjusting his jeans right in front of Cas' eyes.

"I know that you have not celebrated Christmas for many years," Castiel said, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Dean's. "And I want you to be happy. I want to arrange the whole deal, as you would say: the tree, the lights, and the stockings. Presents, too."

"What about eggnog?" Dean suggested, pulling Cas on his feet and flush to his body. He circled his arms around his hips and grabbed his firm ass tightly.

"As much as you like," Cas whispered, a small smile lingering on his lips. Dean didn't have to ask to know that Castiel was thinking about the rum. Or the lack of it, to be precise.

"You minx," Dean chuckled, nuzzling Cas' jaw and scraping his cheek against the dark stubble.

"You love me anyway," Castiel sighed.

Dean snorted. It was something he never thought of hearing from Cas' mouth. But he had taught his angel well; he knew now how to banter, how to pout, apparently, but mostly he knew that Dean loved him. Period.

"Yahtzee."

_~o~_

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**End notes:**

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